The Lyre: Fugitive Poetry of the Xixth CenturyJ. Sharpe, 1830 - 360 страници |
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Страница 7
... sweet , when labours close , To gather round an aching breast The curtain of repose ; Stretch the tired limbs and lay the head Upon our own delightful bed ! Night is the time for dreams , The gay romance of life ; When truth that is and ...
... sweet , when labours close , To gather round an aching breast The curtain of repose ; Stretch the tired limbs and lay the head Upon our own delightful bed ! Night is the time for dreams , The gay romance of life ; When truth that is and ...
Страница 10
... sweet as speech can be , Here's a health , my Scottish lassie ! here's a hearty health to thee ! Here's to thee , my Scottish lassie ! -though my glow of youth is o'er ; And I , as once I felt and dream'd , must feel and dream no more ...
... sweet as speech can be , Here's a health , my Scottish lassie ! here's a hearty health to thee ! Here's to thee , my Scottish lassie ! -though my glow of youth is o'er ; And I , as once I felt and dream'd , must feel and dream no more ...
Страница 11
... sweet and touching voice , in every wind that grieves , As it whirls from the abandon'd oak , its wither'd autumn leaves ; In the gloom of the wild forest , in the stillness of the sea , I shall think , my Scottish lassie ! I shall ...
... sweet and touching voice , in every wind that grieves , As it whirls from the abandon'd oak , its wither'd autumn leaves ; In the gloom of the wild forest , in the stillness of the sea , I shall think , my Scottish lassie ! I shall ...
Страница 14
... Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers , Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light , Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night : Weep not for her ! Weep not for her ! There is no cause of woe , But rather nerve the spirit that it ...
... Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers , Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light , Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night : Weep not for her ! Weep not for her ! There is no cause of woe , But rather nerve the spirit that it ...
Страница 16
... sweet perfume call up tears may not , cannot wish away ! Thy wither'd leaves are as a spell To bring the sainted past before me ; And long - lost visions loved too well , In all their truth restore me . Cold is her hand who placed thee ...
... sweet perfume call up tears may not , cannot wish away ! Thy wither'd leaves are as a spell To bring the sainted past before me ; And long - lost visions loved too well , In all their truth restore me . Cold is her hand who placed thee ...
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ALARIC art thou beauty beneath billows bird blue bosom bower breast breath bright brow calm cheek cloud cold dark dead death deep doth dream e'en earth fair fame fancy crown feel fled flowers gaze gentle gleam glory glow gone grave green grief hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hope hour JOHN MOULTRIE leaves life's light lips lonely look look'd LORD BYRON lute LYRE mirth moon morning mountain murmur N. P. WILLIS ne'er NELL GWYN never night o'er pale pass'd rest rose round Sappho Scottish lassie seem'd shade shine shore sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit stars storm stream summer sweet tears tempest thine thou art thou hast thou wert thought tree Twas Valentine's day voice waking eye wave weep wild wind wings young youth